Undisclosed desires
by nataliet9
Summary: Irene comes to see Sherlock and finds him alone, tortured by his inner demons. They finally give in to the need they both feel, letting go of everything. Two shot, since good things must be done twice.
1. Chapter 1

**The story is named after a Muse song, since I think it fits Sherlock and Irene perfectly. **

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Undisclosed desires

The sky over London was grey and starless. The big, heavy raindrops pounded strongly at the windows of the apartment in 221B Baker Street, as if they were threatening to break the glass. The storm outside grew heavier by the minute and the streets were completely infested; not even the usual number of umbrellas for this whether could be seen since the wind was too strong for them. All of that was nothing compared to Sherlock's mood which was even darker than usual at this particular evening.

The case season was dry, unlikely to the rainy season, typical for mid November. Sherlock paced around the room, as if he was measuring it multiple times with his steps, finally collapsing into his armchair with a sigh. He felt like a caged lion, tormented by the amount of thoughts and ideas in his head, unable to channel them somehow as they backfired on the little serenity he had managed to preserve with no cases on sight in the last couple of weeks. Even John went out, leaving him to the mercy of his tormented mind.

The violin was leaned on the side of his chair, and he gently ran his fingers over the strings with his stretched arm, too lazy to take it in his hands and actually play. Those thoughts, the thoughts he suppressed deep into the darkened corners of his mind palace began haunting him this evening again, taking advantage of his moment of weakness. The secret thoughts of a woman, The Woman.

He stared at the ceiling, counting the small irregularities in the paint work when the unexpected had happened. Somebody knocked on the door of his living room, twice, calmly, and quietly.

His head swiftly turned in the direction of this strange phenomenon. It couldn't be John; he wouldn't knock. Not Mrs. Hudson either, she was visiting her sister. Lestrade would knock more determinately, Mycroft wouldn't knock at all.

He jumped on his feet, doubting a bit if he had fallen asleep during this seemingly endless evening and was dreaming this, driven by the boredom even in his sleep. Very slowly, he approached the door, listening. When he was only a few inches away, the knocks repeated, this time more determinately, which made him jump a bit.

He reached the door knob, pulling the door open very slowly. In front of them stood a woman in a hooded coat, looking down at her expensive black pumps. The long suppressed feelings within him grew within the second, as he watched Irene Adler take down her hood with both of her hands.

She smiled at him broadly, carefully examining every part of him with her never resting, vivid look. She bit her bottom lip, finally fixing her gaze on his blue eyes with such an intensity that made him squirm. He was pretty sure that she was trying to bewitch him, since he felt compromised without her even touching him.

"Invite me in." she suggested, leaning her head a bit to the side in a seductive manner.

He moved to the side, making room for her to enter. She moved around graciously, inspecting the room she found herself in, checking if something had changed since her last and only time here, actually trying to deduce whether he had changed since she last saw him.

"And has anything changed?" he asked, leaning on the door he closed behind her.

"Superficially, no. But I'll have to dig deeper than that." She said suggestively.

She threw her coat on the sofa, and kicked her shoes away as she curled her slender figure in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, embracing her knees.

He sat in the chair opposite to her, starting the eternal dance of trying to analyze her. First step, the obvious; a little black dress, only covering the upper part of her thighs, zipped on her back, stockings with a stitch on the back in the matching black color. The red nails on the hand which she used to support her head, looking sleepily. What was he tired from, he didn't know. Heel turn, he notices a small bruise on her wrist, covered by a bracelet. He deduces nothing more but it takes two to tango. Dos-a-dos, the dance movement when two partners initially facing each other walk around each other in a circle. She analyzes him now; he looks stressed out, his fingers are taping the arm of the chair nervously. He has dark rings around his eyes, he hasn't slept recently and his fingertips are very brightly colored in yellow, barely noticeable of course, he tried to wash away all the evidences of smoking not to alarm John. And the finale, the bow:

"You need me." She simply said, without an intention to tease, simply pointing out what she saw as obvious.

"What makes you deduce that?" he asked, his fingertips forming a triangle as he prepared to engage in a duel with an unpredictable outcome.

She straightened up in her chair, crossing her long, slim fingers which caught his attention, as she intended. Without breaking eye contact, she started explaining her claim:

"You are obviously in bad shape. Psychologically I mean, physically you look as brainy as ever. You started smoking again, you don't sleep, you are sitting alone and yet for the half an hour I was listening on you before I came in, you didn't play the violin, and you barely touched it. You are slowly losing control of your calm, cold outside which is visible in the obvious signs of anxiety you're showing. And yet, since I entered, you are still restless, but the darkness in your mood is gone. In fact, you are showing signs of positive nervousness, revealing that you are not quite comfortable with me being here, in your home, but that still doesn't mean you want me to leave."

He gave no reply to her scarily accurate statement; instead, he studied the lack of victorious glow in her eyes for being right, her half closed eyes, and again the bruise on her wrist which was now more visible when she moved her arm to her mouth, yawning.

"Something happened to you. Something bad." He said, with a disturbance barely noticeable.

Irene sighed. Sherlock saw the tip of the iceberg of sadness in her eyes, begging to be let out, to relieve herself, but she turned her head away towards the window, suppressing it with great effort.

Sherlock felt awkward. If he was right, as he of course was, she came here for comfort, protection? Perhaps even just for a talk. He knew he was definitely the last person on the planet competent to have such a conversation with someone who has been through stuff. And as much as he knew Irene, as much as he considered her the strongest and most valuable of women, whom he would of course never admit it out loud, that stuff must have been hard on her since she couldn't hide the signs. He felt a strange urge to stand up and hold her hand. He saw people applying this apparently meaningless gesture in such circumstances and it seemed to make the recipient feel better or at least smile as a sign of appreciation of the very gesture. He wanted her to smile. He frowned, remembering the night he saw her last time, in the port in Karachi. She smiled then, as a sign of gratitude, as a confirmation of the sentiment he had deduced before. He kissed his cheek while saying goodbye then. He wanted her to smile again. And maybe even kiss his cheek.

He couldn't stand the painful silence any more. Normal silence was welcome, very pleasant in moments. But this silence, filled with the unsaid pain she felt and his inability to affect is was not acceptable, so he finally spoke:

"Irene...I know you've suffered but I don't want you to hide. You obviously came here for a reason, and...If you want to talk, I'll...listen."

She looked away from the window straight into his eyes, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He heard the ridiculous saying that the eyes were the window to the soul before, but at the moment, it didn't seem as ridiculous to him as usual. He saw a whole specter of her feeling in the two blue orbs; there was pain, gratitude, fear and something he saw in her eyes before, something he wasn't experienced with; a basic instinct. He saw the urge of a predator for her prey combined with the specific glow only a determined woman in love could have which basically, in Sherlock's mind, made her into a man hunter. And as far as he could tell, he was the only man within reach.

"What if I didn't come for a talk?" she said, stretching herself like a cat.

Descending on the level of mere mortals, he asked the question to which he already knew the answer.

"What did you come for then?"

She smiled, looking at some imaginary point behind his shoulder in the darkness. She bit her index finger in a teasing way and then she sighed.

"It's a rather complicated matter to explain. Would you like me to show you instead?"

He smirked. She was pulling him on thin ice, and she was the great white beneath it.

"As an experiment you mean?" he played naïve.

She got up in one move, walking slowly towards him, emphasizing every hip drop as she walked, and forming a quite appealing array of eights with her hips. She leaned over him, putting her hands on the arms of the chair on both of his sides, her look piercing his eyes and then she leaned further forward and whispered into his ear:

"Call it whatever you like, but I'll have you tonight and you know it."

"Twice I suppose?" he said, trying to maintain his usual uninterested manner of speech, and failing at it miserably.

As an answer, she pulled him up by the lapels of his jacket. They stood opposite each other, invading each other's personal space with a tendency to fully conquer it. She traced the contour of his heart shaped lips with her index finger, leaning her head on both sides in examination, as her parted lips captured all his attention in anticipation. The truth was, she was burning up inside, every muscle in her body tense, her skin dying for contact with another bare body, his body to be specific, but she kept it slow on purpose, putting both him and herself through the sweetest of tortures; she was a after all dominatrix, and what is love without a little pain?

He was inexperienced, untrained for the games she played so skillfully. And she was right; he needed her. But he was right too, she needed him as well. He grabbed her wrists, attracting her full attention. With raising one eyebrow, he asked approval for his actions, since this situation was unfamiliar to him. Seeing her glowing eyes, begging him for the union, for the release and for the bliss of not thinking, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist, pulling her close forcefully, so the lower parts of their bodies crashed together, as he swallowed his own unexpected moan.

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain a certain level of rationality in his actions, but her hands were already at the back of his neck, closing in slowly, finger by finger so he could really feel it, and then she leaned to his ear again:

"Tease me...you are the one."

And then she traced the contour of his ear with her hot tongue, making him roll his eyes behind closed eyelids. She kissed her way down his neck and up to his jaw, digging her nails into the back of his neck possessively, as she looked him in the eyes for a small moment, allowing him to close the smallest of distances between their lips.

And so he did. Her lips tasted sweet, welcoming, as if he should have explored them a long time ago. At first he was careful, but then he opened his mouth to her restless tongue, as she desperately tried to consume him, all of him. Their tongues wrestled, revealing the need, the desperation, the hunger and all the emotions they couldn't speak out loud; this was definitely a better way to express that with their mouths than plain talking.

While his tongue and teeth were very busy dealing with her mouth, his exploratory hands followed the lines of her sides, her chest, het thin waist and her hips, barely touching them all only with the middle of his palms, until his fingers finally closed in around her bottom. He didn't rest there; he continued his research of all the wonderful regions of her body, sliding his hands up her tight thighs.

He sensed a metal object attached to her garter which surprised him, but she caught his wrist, preventing him from inspecting it any further.

"No, no, don't be so inpatient, we'll get there." She said, hitting his fingers mildly as a punishment.

As compensation, she took his very hand and placed in on the zipper of her dress, looking at him suggestively.

A genius such as himself didn't take a long time to understand the unsubtle hint. He slowly pulled it down her back, memorizing the whole path he took, adding the details to the mental map of her body which will be filed into the most important part of his mind palace, never to be forgotten. His hand landed on her bottom once more and he didn't miss the chance to pull her closer again, disturbed by the unpleasant distance between them. The room wasn't cold, but he felt that every part touched by her was freezing when the contact broke, and he needed her warmth back desperately.

She hooked both her index fingers on the thick straps of her dress, pulling them down simultaneously, stopping at all the right places to emphasize the effect of every next inch of her tempting body, letting the fabric drop down inch by inch. She revealed her black silk underwear, a similar one as he always imagined her wearing in the lonely nights, as her dress slid down her to the floor, getting out of the way.

She was amused by his inability to completely relax and live in the moment; she saw his desire rising to a critical level, but it didn't explode, he kept it on a certain level, enabling himself to memorize, conclude and plan. That must be changed.

She got hold of his lapels, tearing his shirt opened as some of the buttons rolled away on the floor, leaving his naked torso free for her. Before he could react, she bit his neck which made him moan unexpectedly. She took no notice of that; instead she smiled against his skin, kissing the spot which will tomorrow be a quite visible bite mark, happy for marking her territory. She scratched it once again with her front teeth, before her tongue proceeded downwards, paying special attention to his nipple, giving him a short inside in some of the things she was capable of doing. She reached his bellybutton, teasing it with her tongue in an inconsistent manner which made him edgy; he was running out of patience, which was her intention all along.

Her left hand squeezed his buttocks firmly; pushing him onto her while she undid his belt with her right one. All the blood in his body seemed to flow down, as every second seemed to inflict pain on his already thinned nerves; the slow rhythm she inflicted was driving him insane, which was probably her goal, he concluded. He wanted to help her by taking his pants off, but she scolded him, smiling at his impatience.

"Mr. Holmes, where is your famous self control? You seem to be losing it." She said, looking up at him from her suggestive position.

He took a step back, feeling uncomfortably exposed by the situation. She pulled herself up using his hands and then she took out the knife out of her garter, offering it to him on her open palm.

"Don't be shy; let's play." She said, closing his fingers on the handle.

The experiment had an interesting turn, he thought. Slowly, gathering the courage to take initiative, he leaned the cold steal on her collar bone, making her delicate skin shudder upon the contact. He knew the blade of the knife became warmer while pressed onto her body, he didn't need proof. The body that was burning up for him, he saw that in the way she leaned her head backwards in enjoyment of this game they played, her half closed eyes glowing in a dreamy way, waiting to let go. Surprising even himself, in one fast move, he cut her bra in the middle, making it open and reveal her breasts.

She raised one eyebrow in surprise, and then she fixed her look upon the blade which was circling around her breasts, finishing on her nipples, making them hard from the coldness of the metal.

She was at the gates of heaven, happy that she judged him well, that her secret hopes that he will correctly deduce what she liked fulfilled. And now she had to reward him for being such a good boy.

She grabbed the knife out of his hand, stabbing it into the arm of the chair in which she pushed him just a second later.

She straddled him, kissing him deeply and passionately, her tongue possessing every corner of his mouth while her hands possessed the rest. He broke away from the kiss to return the favor by biting her neck a bit harder than it was usual, but then again, he didn't know the usual. She felt proud of how quickly he deduced what made her tick, the sweet mixture of pleasure and pain, the suggestive touches combined with the rough bites and the unique feeling of being wanted by someone as special as him, being the only one wanted by him.

He pulled her closer onto him, trying to make the fabrics between them go away, trying to unite them into one being of ultimate pleasure, their superior minds and their mortal bodies.

She was a woman of action, so she used one of her hands to lower his underwear, not bothering with undressing him completely sine there was simply not enough time, wanting to have him at once. Almost unnoticeably she licked her lips, as her fingers wrapped around him, squeezing him as a test which he passed with the highest marks. Her other hand moved her own underwear out of the way, leaving no obstacles.

With one last seductive look, she lowered herself onto him, arching her back as she slowly descended, wanting to feel him for the first time. She lowered completely, letting out a moan strangely similar to the text alert. She watched his reactions closely as she lowered onto him again and again, increasing the rhythm and adding a circling move from time to time to keep him on alert.

He dug his nails into her hips, pulling her back down unconsciously every time she separated from him, feeling his excitement rise with every time she closed the distance completely. His hands went up to her breasts and back down to her thighs, as his eyes were slowly starting to shut as he was losing himself in the wonderful wetness with which she surrounded him, emphasized by her hands pulling his hair backwards, sending chills down his spine. He felt the inevitable approach as his lower abs started contracting and his breathing became shallow, and then she stopped, prolonging the agony with a smirk on her face.

He looked into her eyes with a mixture of rage and desperation, as she smiled at him with the unmistakable expression of power and control. Something in him snapped, the basic instinct overruled as he stood up, barely giving her time to prepare as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He crouched, dropping her on the floor as he enabled himself to dictate the pace.

She dug her nails into his back as she rolled her eyes backwards, looking up at the ceiling with blur vision while he forcefully thrusted himself into her, barely giving her time to breathe. Time stopped existing as she got the perfect rough play she liked, intercepted by a few gentle touches of his fingertips on her cheek, expressing the unsaid. She let out a final helpless moan as he hit the place inside her which no one found in a long time, making her release a cry as her whole body reacted to him.

The contractions of her inner muscles raised his excitement level over the edge, as he came inside of her, pulling her closer to him, not wanting to let go.

He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily in an uneven rhythm. He felt her lying beside him in a similar state, as he slowly came back into reality.

It was strange how she not only made him silent, she also made his mind blank; that truly made her special. He felt her nails scratching his abs gently, as if she was reminding him that she conquered the territory. At some point, he covered her hand with his, his fingers going between hers as she still touched his skin with her fingertips.

She was extraordinary, he realized. She was an assembly of contradictions: dangerous but emotional deep within, had on the outside but soft on the inside, half of her actions were brutal and merciless while the other ones indicated to how subjectable she was to sentiment, this chemical defect he provoked in her. He felt proud of that in some way, dominating the dominatrix.

He shifted his weight, turning on his side to observe her. She was beautiful, not even he could deny that. And seductive, tempting, attractive...but also something more.

"You trick your lovers that you're wicked and divine." He stated as a conclusion of his analysis, based on various experimental approaches he applied during the evening.

She smiled, stretching like a cat on his rug as she patted his calf with her foot.

"But I can't trick you, can I?" she said, biting her lip to distract him.

"No...you may be a sinner, but your innocence is mine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all once again for all the wonderful reviews! :)**

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"So...are you hungry?" Sherlock asked after a while, trying to be a decent host. He felt the urge to contribute restoring Irene's inner balance, still disturbed by the changes in her behavior. Food seemed like something normal people would offer in such circumstances.

She smiled, leaning her head on her shoulder:

"You don't have to play nice; I know you would never offer me food if you weren't concerned. Besides, you cheered me up enough already." She added with a smirk.

He smiled with just a sub tone of awkwardness, as he studied the irregularities on the carpet he already knew by heart. As the oxytocin level in his brain gradually decreased, he became aware of what had happened. Although he had an unspoken rule against giving in to anyone, just for the sake of keeping his defenses up, somehow, it didn't feel so wrong. Not when the other person felt even more broken then you at least. He sighed, starting the engine of his brain again after this short stop on the side road of chemically induced shut down. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what he wanted more; to diagnose the problem or fix it.

"But I could have a cup of tea, if the offer still stands." Irene said, fully aware of what he was thinking, and consequentially wanting to end it. Her head was never in the clouds, that was one of the things that made her so though; no false expectations. She knew he was an average shoulder to cry on; that wasn't the thing she came for. He was on the other hand the ultimate cause of the dangerous, overwhelming chemical defect which offered certain oblivion, adrenaline based euphoria and a slight tempting feeling to detach at least one foot from the ground, and he was doing a hell of a job with all that so far.

He stood up, awkwardly zipping his trousers. The previous part of the evening was easier, he didn't need to think about the consequences of his actions, he just did, driven by some indefinable forces within, but now he had to act under the full realization that he crossed some lines. For a moment, he felt longing for all the stories he heard in his lifetime, of people just sneaking out of bed to avoid pillow, or rug talk in this case. That wasn't a good idea, he immediately realized; she would tie him down to a radiator if he tried to dodge her. In some strange way, that wasn't such an unpleasant thought, he realized, while smiling down at the kettle in the kitchen.

He came back minutes later, holding two tea mugs. He found her curled in the very armchair of which he will never have the same opinion again. She didn't bother to get dressed, which he admired in a way. He never had a problem with being naked before; it was just a state in which he found himself in various occasions, simply without clothes, and the corporal was meaningless to him anyway. But now that he scratched the iceberg of his sexuality, he felt somehow exposed and a tiny bit insecure while sitting shirtless next to her, on the arm of the chair. She on the other hand didn't seem to share the problem; her confidence would be on the same level even if she wore three layers of clothes, he was sure of that. Was it because she was sure of how appealing she was, or she didn't think of it at all, which was something different then. But for sure complicated.

She made a grimace after she took the first sip.

"This tea is diabetes-inducing sweet." She joked, but seriously disgusted.

"I didn't know how you like it, so I figured I'll make it with double sugar as I drink it."

"There are many things you don't know about me." She smirked, giving the tea another chance before finally leaving it on the floor next to the chair.

"That, although it hurts my ego fatally to admit it, might even possibly be the truth."

She smiled. They both knew it was, but pushing him into admitting it was meaningless. The veil of hints and assumptions was far more seductive, which she as a master knew; never give away too much and always leave him something to wonder about in your absence.

"You want to ask me about the reasons I came, what is bothering me." She stated, observing his reaction to her straight forwardness.

"No. Since I'm aware you didn't come here with an intention of telling."

"Aren't you going to try to make me tell you?" she asked mischievously, rotating a bit towards him in her seat.

"I think that's more your area of expertise."

"True." She smirked. "But I feel I owe you some kind of explanation, knowing that you are going to speculate about it long after I'm gone...and you made my staying quite pleasurable, I feel I should make up for it somehow."

She put her hand over his, stimulating his nerve endings again with the touch of her soft, warm hands.

"There is one thing you can do." He said, turning her hand gently so his fingertips covered her pulse point. He did it to make her feel familiar and comfortable, like a ritual they will from now on perform in similar situations, not to really check her pulse. He knew he can elevate it now, he thought with a smirk. "I want to recognize your beauty is not just a mask."

"Should I remark on the paradox of asking a masked woman who she really is?" she said, enjoying both the game he started and his motives for starting it.

"Somebody once told me that a mask is always a self portrait, no matter how hard you try. Who does yours portray?"

"And somebody once told me it is something deep, my heart even." She smiled, leaning her head slightly backwards.

"That sounds very observant. Who could have made such a clear sighted observation?"

"An ego maniac who's god complex apparently amplified, since he started praising himself by referring to himself in the third person, as if there were, god forbid, more of them." She joked.

"He sounds fascinating." Sherlock added with a suggestive glow in his eyes.

"Not so much when you get to know him, then you see is more human than you first thought. Don't tell anyone, but he even sub comes to sentiment." She said shuddered.

"No." Sherlock replied, faking utter disappointment.

"In fact" Irene approached, biting his ear gently, "I intend to prove just how human he is."

Sherlock turned his head to meet her challenging look. Just when he thought the game was overwhelmingly interesting, she changed the rules and it got better. If he believed in God, he would think that God sent Irene Adler to make him shut up with his never ending whining of boredom.

"And..." he started, recalling the evening when she first asked him to have dinner with her, when he spoke in the same slow, deep manner to test his theory "just how do you plan on doing that?"

She drove her nails into his arm just to boost his adrenaline; she knew he wouldn't express pain, although she tried to make him feel it. Without breaking eye contact she said: "I'm very glad you asked."

She smiled in such a devilish way that he almost felt regret for asking. She curled his hair around her index finger as she significantly looked towards the desk behind her.

"Do you perhaps recall a certain claim I made regarding a yet non expressed way of remarking you decrypting skills?" she said, raising an eyebrow in a tempting manner.

He laughed; next level of the game.

"I believe you got a taste of your own medicine the very same day." He said, evidently proud of making the dominatrix beg.

"Care to give me a rematch?" she said, pulling his hair suddenly, since she was gently stroking it until then.

"Only if you think you'll live up to the challenge. You see...I've never begged for mercy in my life."

She got up, still looking at him as she twisted his arm behind his back in one quick, experienced move. He didn't get a chance to hide the expression of pain on his face as she whispered in his ear, standing behind him:

"I think I'll manage just fine."

Sherlock wasn't a beginner in close contact either, at least not in the fighting area, so he untangled himself, using a moment when she lost her focus, and caught both of her wrists behind her back. He stood behind her now, breathing down her neck as she experienced frustration and sweet anticipation. He leaned forward, whispering in her ear:

"That was tremendously ambitious of you."

Her fingers twisted, getting hold of any part of him she could reach. When she got hold of what she was looking for, she said mischievously:

"How about a compromise? If you let go, I won't."

He laughed still holding her wrists tight, so she decided to squeeze him in a motivational manner. He jumped, letting go of her as she turned like a professional dancer landing into his arms.

"Oh Mr. Holmes, you still have a lot to learn from me."

"Show me how it's done then." He replied, allowing himself a tiny moment of submissiveness.

She pushed him backwards, until he clumsily hit the edge of the desk. Without any care for his personal belongings, she pushed everything away from his desk with an ecstatic smile, happy to provoke more chaos in his life. He sat on the edge of the desk, supporting himself with his hands behind him, as she victoriously said:

"Trust me; you can be sure I will."

She got down on her knees, as he swallowed; presuming what is going to happen without a margin of error. Her dexterous fingers repeated the action of releasing him from the uncomfortable and most of all unnecessary clothes, as he felt the fear of anticipation. He saw determination in her eyes, and he became fully aware of the possibility that she will achieve her goal.

She finished undressing him, this time completely. She knew her hesitation made him nervous, which made her act even slower, licking the inner edge of her lips just to mess with him. Just as he thought that she gave up on her plan, she decisively grabbed him with one of her arms and consumed him completely, as his nails dug into the surface of the desk from the new, heavenly stimulation. He felt her smile, but she continued soon enough, setting a slow pace which was quite enough to make his knees shiver.

She speeded up, and then she slowed down. Over and over again. She gently scratched him with her teeth, knowing that he would feel any pain just as a stronger stimulation now, as she secretly observed him. She will never forget that look on his face, complete giving in, powerless under her influence, without control and without even wanting it. She saw him swallowing, she felt his muscles tense as she knew he won't last for much longer, and then, with the utmost victorious sadism she slowly licked him before completely moving away.

He breathed fast, looking at her in panic, realizing that she had proven her point and even more, horrified that she wasn't proving it till the end. Irene Adler bit her lip before the dominatrix spoke:

"Beg." She simply said, raising an eyebrow.

He looked at her, his hands shaking, not wanting to give her the pleasure but wanting to receive it desperately himself. He felt he lost the ability to speak, as she demanded again:

"Well? What's it going to be?"

Proving her point, proving that he was just human, a man affected with sentiment and primal lust, he spoke, almost silently:

"Please."

She smiled, looking mildly up at him, letting her own sentiment take effect and deciding once was enough.

She returned to him, giving him her best game. This time he observed her, memorizing visually what he already did tactually, the gift he paid expensively, knowing it was worth it, and somehow sensing she will not use it against him.

He caught her hair as he approached the critical point and she speed up, determined to make him never forget this. At the final moment, she twisted her tongue; overloading his hard drive with jet another heavenly sensation and he came. He felt the greatest release in his life, as he pulled her hair in trance letting out a deep moan; that gave her a genius idea to change her text alert some time soon.

She got up, placing her palms on his chest as she felt his muscles still disobeying him, trying to resume control. He looked into her eyes as she started laughing from the bottom of her heart.

"If I knew I'd get that 'I love you deeply and eternally' look from you this way, I would have done this ages ago."

He rolled his eyes, smiling at her, still not being himself completely. She took his hand and they sat on the floor, while she stroke his shoulder, still smiling.

After regaining normal mental function and resting a bit, he turned towards her, observing her, once again completely relaxed and self confident.

"I was wondering, what makes you feel so relaxed when you're naked? Not just now, the day when we first met too. I realize you're quite satisfied with the way you look, but still, how do you manage to feel so comfortable?"

She smiled: "It's the fact that I know you feel more uncomfortable. I feed on your sense of shame and discomfort." She said in an emphasized tone.

"That's something like when I make people feel stupid and then I feel even smarter, if that is even possible."

"Something like that. But, I have the upper hand on this one, since you never get so far as making me feel stupid, but" she pushed his chin up with her finger "I can always make you feel uncomfortable."

"You're enjoying yourself too much." He remarked. He might enjoy her toying him in bed and other wonderful places she comes up with, but being toyed verbally was not pleasant for his very sensitive ego.

"I remember a rather unpleasant experience when I replied 'There's no such thing as too much', so I'll be more prudent this time. I'm enjoying myself just as much as I should. And somehow I don't believe you have a trick up your sleeve this time, since you, well, don't have a sleeve."

"I should have guessed that was you ulterior motive to take my shirt from me."

"Don't be sad about it, you've taken the rabbit out of the hat even without it. Which reminds me, I believe you owe me."

"Owe you? What exactly?"

"I believe the score of the night is two to one in your favor." She said suggestively.

Sherlock looked at her in disbelief; were all women like this or did this one have an unusually strong appetite.

"You want to drain my strength completely." He said in amusement.

"I just don't like wasting time, especially not the time which can be spent in a number of interesting ways."

"I think" he said, brushing her cheek with his fingertips, studying the expression in her eyes "that you got the comfort you came for and now you're trying to avoid talking about what was bothering you in the first place."

His voice was calm and deep, but somehow authoritative and his touch gave her a feeling of comfort, as she knew he wasn't trying to break her; he honestly wanted to know what hurt her. She moved her head away, frowning to the memories he triggered. In some strange way, he now had a right to ask, since they reached the next level of trust, not physically but emotionally, mentally. She preferred the good old 'take advantage of him and leave' way, but something in his observant, blue eyes told her that she won't be able to pull it off this time.

"Why do you have the urge to exorcise the demons from my past?" she smiled after the moment of vulnerability passed.

"You came to me so I would satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart; everything else is just collateral."

"I still have a few desires." She said, smiling in the way he learned to recognize as adventurous. "And after all, we have this one night only." Her fingers returned to their favorite place on the back of his head. "We have one night only, till dawn. I'll be able to go on, you've helped me in restoring inner balance, but" she emphasized the word "you still owe me".

"And I thought deflecting was my specialty."

"I guess we are rather alike then." She suggested.

"Unfortunately." He admitted.

"If the chemical defect is found on both sides, which one loses?" she asked.

"Both. Or they unite against a common enemy to lessen the weakness."

She felt emotional again, as the conversation aroused some repressed feelings again. She almost wished they were normal, common, average, so that she could stay with him and lead a dull life, but just almost. Instead, she cherished this moment of having him, the most extraordinary man she knew, knowing that it could be a while until she could return and have him again, a part of her grieving over it and the other part knowing that she intoxicated him enough to make him miss her every day that she was gone. That was enough for her, and it was enough of the conversation as well.

"Don't." she said, putting her index finger over his mouth, preventing him from speaking. "It's been a pleasure, don't spoil it."

He looked at her doubtfully, his lips in a half smile, his head leaning to the side as he scaled between satisfying his intellectual interest and his physical desire. Normally, the latter wouldn't even exist in the equation, but this was just the first of_ those_ nights.

He bit her finger, not to make it hurt, just to inform her he was in for whatever she had in mind. She bit her lip to inform him that she wanted to see what he had on his mind for a change. Linear, conclusive thinking was never a problem for Sherlock, but this complex, sensual and creative one presented itself as quite a challenge. In such a short period of time, it became important impressing her which was annoying him.

"Alright." he quietly said, getting up and giving her a hand for her to do the same. They stood opposite each other, studying each other's expressions carefully when he made a gesture with his hand, indicating her to his bedroom.

With a self satisfied smile, she proceeded, hearing his footsteps right behind her. The moment before she reached the door, he pulled her hand, pushing her onto the wall of the hallway. Before she could react, he lifted her by her thighs and pinned her between himself and the wall. The contrast of his warm body and the coldness of the wall awakened all her senses. He kissed her neck downwards and the only thing she said, before taking a more active role was:

"Go on. Impress a girl."

And so he did. It was strange how words became unnecessary and slow, and how just one look he gave her was enough for her to wrap her legs around his waist and to lock her arms around his neck.

"Lead the way." She instructed.

She landed on his bed, and he followed within the second, trying to minimize the time he was separated from her. The fact that she will be leaving soon started to trouble him, and he wanted to use the most of it. The gentleness he had for her minutes before when they were talking was replaced by desperate, overwhelming passion, by the feeling of 'here and now' instead of the 'what if and it will happen'.

There were no games this time, no power plays. No clothes in the way of his hands either, as they went down to her thighs and back up to her breasts, holding her tight.

She stretched her arms over her head, allowing him full control, and she arched her back as he entered her. Then she locked him in a cage between her knees, preventing his escape by her nails now digging into his back. He didn't rush it, wanting to prolong the fieldtrip into the forbidden emotional zone even more. They held on to each other in an almost unnatural manner which barely allowed movement, except for the crucial ones. Her cheeks turned pinkish as her breathing became shallow and fast. He licked his lips as they became dry, knowing he'll have to let go soon, but desperately fighting it, his fingers digging into her skin as if he was holding onto the edge of a cliff. She caught his face in both hands, looking deep into his eyes and then she pulled him down into a deep kiss which took them both over the edge, as they melted into each other.

He just collapsed on top of her, exhausted of all of her challenges he had to pass that night, breathing heavily as his sweat mixed with hers. Her red nails petted his hair, as she placed tired, wet kisses on his neck, rewarding him for the effort he made. They welcomed dawn like that.

Lazily with the first sunbeams piercing through the window of his bedroom, she started walking around his flat, gathering her things. He was lying, observing the way she moved and got dressed, giving in to his true nature of the watcher as he didn't even get up to zip her dress, amused by the effort she had to make to do it herself.

Once she finished preparing, she turned towards him. Raising one eyebrow, she smirked at him. Kissing him goodbye would mean a farewell, and this was just a pause in the game, one that she will eagerly await to continue.

On her way out of the room, something caught her attention though; the hat, the Sherlock Holmes hat. With a laugh from the bottom of her heart, she put it on and said in her mischievous way:

"Good Morning ." and turned away, leaving him between the crumpled sheets.

"Good Morning, Ms. Adler." He replied, more to himself, with a smirk on his face.

* * *

**It is the end of the story for now, I might continue it someday if I have the inspiration :) Writing M rated stories has proven to be very interesting, so I'll start a new, longer one with a plot tomorrow :) Thank you for reading! xx**


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